


Tired

by Diary



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon Character of Color, Conversations, Gen, Good Slytherins, Hogwarts Fifth Year, POV Female Character, POV Millicent Bulstrode, POV Nonhuman, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 13:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6117953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repost. It’s only her first week of being on the Inquisitorial Squad, and already, Millicent knows she needs to develop an even tougher metaphorical skin. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tired

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter.

The new badge pinned to her robes feels like it’s weighing her down, but Millicent Bulstrode is aware it’s her own disgust rather the actual weight of the badge she's feeling.

Her grandmother absolutely hates Umbridge, and Millicent can all too easily see her grandmother’s fury if she knew what Millicent was up to. She can see her mother’s shocked, disappointed face with eyes full of hurt.

Sighing, Millicent tries to concentrate on her potions homework. Even Snape seemed more judgemental than usual. It wasn’t as if he didn’t kiss-up to Umbridge just as much, if not more. The difference was, he was only half or muggle-born, and the new headmistress may hate the latter, but Millicent imagines she’d tolerate them much more than she would a girl with strong hag blood running through her veins.

Someone sits down, and Millicent looks up. “Nott,” she greets.

“I’m curious, Bulstrode.”

She stays silent.

“You seemed very invested in getting permission for you and Greengrass permission to teach the younger years of our House defence spells.”

“Greengrass was the one who suggested it,” Millicent answers. “She thought it would be a good idea for if the other houses got out of line, to be able to protect and subdue. I was chosen to help her due having the highest marks in Charms.”

It’s not as if Potter would let any Slytherins into his illegal little club, after all, and if the Dark Lord or his followers do come, wanting to kill another student, many Slytherins are going to be easy targets if no one prepares them. Greengrass understands this (after all, she joined because her older sister has a muggle sweetheart, and she’s hoping being in good with the ministry will help her protect both of them) and had agreed to do all the talking. They’d agreed they’d teach fifth years and up by claiming they needed extra help from so-and-so.

“Interesting.”

Annoyed, Millicent almost hisses, “I don’t like trying to decipher subtle implications, Nott. If you want to say something, come out and say it. If you want to feel superior for knowing something I don’t know, just keep quiet. Everyone knows what your father is, just like they know what my mum and grandmother are.”

“Everyone but Umbridge,” he answers. “She can’t decipher subtle implications, at all. The things that everyone knows but no one talks about are often lost on her.”

Talk about obvious, Millicent thinks. She feels a shiver of fear, but she keeps still. Nott has usually ignored everyone but Malfoy; if this has suddenly changed, she’ll have to keep calm. Reacting boldly never helped when the villagers threw rocks at her house, and at the moment, this is all Nott’s doing: throwing metaphorical rocks. Stay inside until they leave, her mum and grandmother always insisted.

Millicent had always hated the mandate; when she was two, her grandmother had found a broken wand on the street and taken it home. Millicent had taught herself all sorts of magic with it wand and could have done something. When she turned eleven and got a wand that had chosen her, she was even more powerful and could have done even more.

Now, though, she’s starting to understand their point in carefully picking battles. They’ve always protected her, and now, she’s going to do the same, even if it means having metaphorical rocks thrown at her and having to endure actual physical harm.

Standing, Nott declares, “Everyone knows what my father is; no one knows what I am.”

Before she can respond, he walks away.

0

Some part of her wants to walk away, but Millicent steels herself, and then, taps her foot.

The two younger students, a Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw, the former a third year, the latter a second, jump.

“No duelling in the hallways,” she says.

The Hufflepuff glares at her. “You don’t have any real power,” she snaps. “Inquisitorial squad. You and the others are nothing but death eaters in training, trying to destroy Harry Potter!”

Not-so-subtly, the Ravenclaw kicks the Hufflepuff and shoots Millicent a fearful look. “Fighting isn’t allowed in the hallways. We’re sorry.”

“I’m not.”

“Ten points from Hufflepuff,” Millicent says. “Get to class.”

The Hufflepuff storms away. The Ravenclaw looks up at Millicent. “Um,” she says, “so, you really are like a prefect, just with powers to take from all houses?”

Millicent knows the correct response is to try to indoctrinate this little girl into believing the ministry is wonderful and Potter is a deranged freak who’s lying. “I am,” she answers. “Malfoy and his lot aren’t.”

“You, uh, don’t hate muggle-borns, then?”

“Not on principle,” Millicent answers. “I don’t care for most of the people I know, regardless of blood status.”

“Oh.”

For a long moment, the Ravenclaw stands there. “I really am sorry we were fighting in the hallways. Have a good day.”

Watching her leave, Millicent wonders how she’s supposed to feel about the exchange.

0

Millicent looks down at the small Gryffindor in utter bemusement and wonders why, out of all the other members of the squad, it seems she’s the one constantly finding herself in conversations with younger students.

He looks up at her with his eyes showing nothing but sincerity.

“Ask Headmistress Umbridge,” she says.

His face falls. “But-” He searches for words. “I’m a Gryffindor.”

How she wishes for the days when she could be more-or-less invisible, Millicent reflects. Now, annoying little Gryffindors who might just have less naïveté than she originally thought are a part of the list of people she has to deal with.

“And you don’t see how suspicious it is that a Gryffindor wants a picture of the Inquisitorial Squad?”

To her horror, he looks almost devastated by her words.

She wouldn’t think she’d care. Most of the younger students of all houses look at her in disgust and fear or anger, but unlike Parkinson and some of the others, she’s never deliberately done and said things to attack the self-worth of others. Her mother’s face would flash in her mind if she did.

It turns out, there’s something more than her mother making her feel bad, and she objects most strongly to it.

“Look, go talk to Greengrass. She might help you.”

Greengrass will think this little brown-haired boy is simply adorable. Millicent just hopes he’s not a brilliant strategist who’s really good at acting.

“Er,” he says.

Before he can continue, Draco Malfoy appears, and on her list of things she doesn’t need, Malfoy causing trouble by bullying a tiny little Gryffindor is fairly high up there. “Creevey, are you still trying to get a picture of your brother’s crush?”

Turning beet red, the brown-haired boy tries to puff out his chest. “Malfoy.”

“Careful,” Malfoy drawls. “I can dock you like I docked Potter this morning.”

Seeming to deflate, the boy says, “I take pictures of all the clubs.”

“I can think of one you haven’t taken a picture of.”

The Gryffindor makes some sort of signal with his right hand. Millicent assumes by his expression of fear and defiance it’s supposed to be insulting, but it must be muggle. She can tell by Malfoy’s face he’s just as mystified as she is as to what the insult’s supposed to be.

“Well,” Malfoy says, “I think we should let him, Bulstrode. My father would be proud to have a picture to show off to Minister Fudge.”

Short of publicly declaring himself to be madly in love with Potter, Malfoy isn’t going to get in trouble no matter what he does while Umbridge is headmistress. “Your call, Malfoy.”

Relatively sure Malfoy isn’t going to hex the brown-haired boy into next Sunday, she starts to walk away.

“Perhaps, you could wear something other than a plait.”

Turning, Millicent says, “You know I’m not going to be in it, Malfoy.”

Whipping his head, the boy exclaims, “But then, it won’t be a full picture!”

“What a tragedy that would be,” Malfoy notes. “It’s not optional, Bulstrode. Ickle Creevey here is right: it wouldn’t be a full picture. And we certainly want to represent our headmistress properly, don’t we?”

And those five sentences are why Millicent has always avoided clubs and informal gatherings. Arseholes like Malfoy try to make her do things she opposes, and unfortunately, she isn’t allowed to curse said people.

“Whatever, Malfoy,” she says.

She walks away.

0

“Dammit,” Blaise Zabini hisses.

He’s trying to balance his book bag as he rolls a covered cauldron down the hallway.

Sighing, Millicent clears her throat. “Need some help, Zabini?”    

Zabini’s alright. Like her and Nott, he’s quiet most of the time and usually avoids others. His mum might be killer, but most of them have a killer family member or more. At least his doesn’t target people like Millicent’s family.

“Thanks, Bulstrode.” He hands the book bag over. “I’m headed to Divination. Bloody pointless course by a bloody pointless professor. Don’t know why Snape keeps sending her sobering potions.”

She notices he looks as tired as she feels.

They walk silently down the hall until he says, “My mum’s getting married, again. This one seems nice. He bought me a high-quality deluminator.”

She has absolutely no idea what to say. Zabini’s mother has been married several times, and several times, she’s been investigated on suspicion of murder. Every time, she’s been cleared, but Millicent’s guessing by his tone he doesn’t believe her innocence any more than any of the others do.

A little boy skips down the hallway, and she and Zabini automatically move to make room for him. He’s a Gryffindor, and when he gets close enough, she sees he’s the photographer’s little brother. He glances over at them, sees her, and his face turning pink, he almost falls over backwards. “Eep!”

He promptly disappears behind a door pretending to be a window.

“I take it Pucey’s been telling the younger ones that I eat human livers, again,” Millicent comments.

“Do you know who that was?”

“You know that Gryffindor that’s always taking pictures? That was his little brother.”

“Oh. I heard Creevey was taking a picture of the Inquisitorial Squad.”

“Unfortunately,” she answers. “Malfoy’s only insisting because he thinks that one, the one who just invaded Flitwick’s class, has a crush on one of its members. If so, I’m guessing either Greengrass or Montague.”

There’s a change in the air.

Finally, Zabini says, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Bulstrode. Umbridge won’t be here for much longer, and there’s a good chance Dumbledore will find his way back into complete power. No one’s going to care about your family if you get labelled a-” He doesn’t finish.

“No one cares, now,” Millicent answers.

In truth, she’s well aware of how much she doesn’t really know what she’s doing. She doesn’t know what the long-term consequences of more firmly aligning herself with Malfoy and his lot will be, but she does know they could be bad.

“Maybe if I help protect the Slytherins against the Dark Lord, some of them will help me protect my mum and grandmother while everything else is going down. We know that this Order of the Phoenix won’t give a damn about a hag, a- whatever my mum is, and their Slytherin witch.”

They also both know even aligning with Malfoy probably won’t stop some of their housemates’ death eater relatives from targeting her family. Hags are usually left alone, but her grandfather was a squib from a pureblood family. Her mother, whether she had a choice in conceiving or not (Millicent has had a dark suspicion about for a long time), did choose to give birth to the daughter of a wizard. Death eaters get so touchy about inter-blood, never mind interspecies, products.

“We all have to make our choices,” Zabini tells her. “Take care, Bulstrode.”

Opening the trapdoor to the divination classroom, he takes his book bag, tosses it down, and begins climbing down with the cauldron.

0

“But I didn’t mean to hurt her!”

Patting a younger student, Greengrass shoots her a desperate look.

Millicent rolls her eyes and regrets it when doing so only serves to intensify the pain coursing through her body. No one ever told her stupefy was such a painful thing. “It’s not like you killed me,” she points out.

Oh, wonderful, the third year is crying. It’s only the first day, and already, she’s been knocked unconscious by a thirteen-year-old and has unwittingly caused said thirteen-year-old to cry. This practical defense idea was an absolutely terrible one, she realises. She and Greengrass aren’t Potter; neither of them have the patience for teaching vital skills.

“Look, do you love your family? Your friends? Do you want to live?”

This seems to startle the third year out of crying.

“The ministry says we don’t have to worry about the Dark Lord, but there will always be dark wizards and witches. There’s a possibility they could target you and yours. If they do, are you going to stand around, panicking, and waiting for them to wake up?”

“But you’re not any of them,” the third year points out.

“Stop missing the point,” Millicent snaps. She tries not to wince as she stands. “You should be proud. I didn’t think anyone before fourth year could perform a stupefy that actually worked. Now, did you pay attention to how Greengrass revived me?”

Swiping at the tears, the third year nods.

“Good. Well, you’ve got stupefy down. Now, we’re going to move onto the shield charm. I’ll go first. Try to protect yourself.”    

0

Fifi, one of the school’s house-elves, looks down at Millicent’s still-full tray. “Miss Millie isn’t eating enough, lately.”

“I’m too tired,” Millicent answers.

The photo-taking was a nightmare.

She imagines Creevey’s housemates would have loved to be there as the tiny little muggle-born ordered Slytherins much larger than him around as if he were absolute lord and master of everything. First, he’d wanted a group photo, but it took forever for him to get _her_ in what he considered the proper place. Which, either due to him having a knack for propaganda or just being an extremely odd child, had been right in front of the others all by herself.

Then, he’d wanted a picture of the all-girls and all-boys. Thankfully, she’d been allowed to stand in the back for it.

Finally, he’d wanted an individual picture of each. She’d firmly refused, but Umbridge herself had insisted.

After it was over, she’d pulled him aside, hoped no one would pay attention to the two of them, and warned he’d pay if any of the pictures with her in them made it to her family.

Coming over, Fifi places her hand on Millicent’s forehead  and gently rubs. “There isn’t been a defence against dark arts professor that lasted more than a year since before Fifi came. Headmistress will be gone, soon.”

“Yeah,” Millicent comments. She closes her eyes and listens as her cat, Yumiko, taps on the window. There’s a soothing sound of moving water, and the giant squid taps back. “But that probably won’t make things any better. Diggory isn’t the last, Fifi.”

“Maybe if others follow Headmaster Dumbledore’s speech like Miss Millie is, he will be.”

Sitting up, Millicent looks down. “Fifi, what are you talking about?”

Climbing up onto the bed, Fifi pats her hand. “Remembering Mister Cedric.”

Going back to the speech last year, Millicent resists the urge to bang her head against something hard. “Fifi, you have to realise I’m on the wrong side. I’m taking orders from someone who would do horrible things to my family if she could. I’m helping housemates who are probably going to end up as death eaters in a year or two bully kids. I don’t like Potter, but I know he’s not lying, and I’m trying to stop him. You’ve been very kind to me since that day I came into the kitchen during the first year, wanting to eat my meals there, but I’m not the girl who loves reading and practising charms anymore! The people I’m helping, they’ve done horrible, horrible things to your kind.”

“No,” Fifi answers. “You isn’t, and Fifi’s sorry for that. But here’s what Fifi sees: Miss Millie is making sure her little housemates is hopefully safe. Miss Millie could have caught Harry Potter if she was wanting to. Miss Millie doesn’t take points to be mean. Miss Millie thinks her family is the most important thing. That’s why she’s doing this, and none of its easy.”

Only a house-elf could look at things in such a way, Millicent thinks. “And what if I have to catch Potter and them?”

“Then, Fifi is still going to be very fond of Miss Millie.”

Sighing, Millicent starts to undo her plaits. “Thank you, Fifi. That doesn’t particularly help me, but it does mean a lot.”

Nodding, Fifi says, “I is going to get Miss Millie a slice of peanut butter cake and some hot tea. It won’t be much to eat, but it’ll fill Miss Millie’s stomach, at least for tonight.”

“Thank you, Fifi.”

Once Fifi has vanished, Millicent changes and goes over to play a clapping game with the giant squid. During her first year, it kept trying to teach her and the others. Only she, Parkinson, and Goyle admitted to complying.

It’s only her first week of being on the Inquisitorial Squad, and already, Millicent knows she needs to develop an even tougher metaphorical skin.   

She glances over at a picture of her mum and grandmother playing with Yumiko. Noticing her looking, the two wave while Yumiko swats at them.

It’s a picture, and its occupants aren’t interested in the flesh-and-blood girl.


End file.
